My Psychopharmacologist and I
by sanscomment
Summary: AU. Stiles was never the same after his mother died. He can still hear her. He can still see her. Everyone who knows him knows that he's "crazy Stiles Stilinski." But how crazy is he? His therapist sends him to a facility just outside of Beacon Hills where he meets a counselor named Derek Hale. He doesn't think that Stiles is crazy. Can he help him?


**TITLE:** My Psycopharmacologist and I

**SUMMARY: **AU. Stiles was never the same after his mother died (although if you ask him, she never actually died). He can still hear her. He can still see her. Everyone who knows him knows that he's "crazy Stiles Stilinski." But how crazy is he? His therapist sends him to a facility just outside of Beacon Hills where he meets a counselor named Derek Hale. He doesn't think that Stiles is crazy. The question is, can he help the boy who just wants to be left alone?

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own Teen Wolf.

**SHIPS: ** Sterek; Stydia friendship.

* * *

Stiles. His name was Stiles. No one called him by his other name since his mother died. Only his mother was allowed to call him that. Most of his 'friends' didn't know his name. If they did, they knew damn well not to use it. It was one of the many things that could set Stiles off. The teen was surprised that he even had friends. They considered him a friend, but to him they were nothing more than acquaintances. Ever since his mother died, he had grown distant. Even his father could no longer read him. Part of Stiles knew that it upset the man, but a larger part of him truly didn't care.

His father left him at the hospital while his mother was dying. His father wasn't there to console him as his tiny body sobbed into Melissa McCall's arms when they pulled him off of his mother's dead body. His father sent him to doctors to try and "fix" him when Stiles didn't want to be fixed. He hated his father.

"I'm not taking any more of her fucking pills," he growled angrily as he threw the new bottle of pills across the room. The sheriff was at a loss for what to do with his son. He had been doing so well on his latest cocktail of medications, but Stiles had an episode and went off them cold turkey, leading them into the current arguments.

"Stiles," the older man sighed, blocking his son's pathway out of his room. "You know what Dr. Jameson said. If you take them, you can go back to school. You can spend time with your friends. You can be normal."

"I am normal!" Stiles shouted. His father's words hurt him. According to Stiles, he was as normal as normal could get. According to everyone else, he was batshit crazy. The boy had violent mood swings. He could go from being happy and easy going to trying to rip someone's head off for saying the wrong thing. Sometimes there was no trigger. Something just snapped inside of him. He was a loose cannon that even his old friends shied away from.

"Please don't make me ground you, Stiles."

"Go ahead, John." Now Stiles was saying this to purposely rub his father the wrong way. "What difference is it going to make? You never let me leave the house except to go to appointments, and it's not like I can drive."

"If you take your medicine like you're supposed to, you could drive. You could have the Jeep and I'd teach you how to drive, but you have to be stable to drive. Those aren't my rules; those are the state's rules."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Is that why you lock me in my room at night? Hm? Is that why you have to watch me shave? Why I'm not allowed to do anything?!" Talking to Stiles was like talking to a wall at times. He saw things his way and there was no other option. "Why you're poisoning me with shit like this?" He grabbed another container of his medicine and threw it at his father.

"It's not poison if it's helping you, Stiles. Can't you see that?" His voice was quiet and Stiles knew he almost won the fight. He was so close he could taste victory. His father was caving.

"Mom wouldn't make me take them."

Without another word, John turned and closed the door to his son's room. Stiles didn't even bother checking to see if he was truly grounded or not. He was sick of all this. While part of him understood that he needed all the help and supervision that his father was giving him, he didn't want it. He wanted to feel safe, but not because there were always eyes on him. He wanted to feel safe because he was.

The new drugs made him physically sick, and they made his mom go away. She was dead, but not to him. In his mind, she was very much alive. He used to converse with her on an almost daily basis. Sometimes he'd only hear her, other times he might physically see her. He might actually feel her arms wrap around him. That was the safety he needed.

No matter how many people told him that his mother was dead, or forced him to go stare at her grave, he didn't want to believe it. How could he still hear and see her if she was gone? The first few years after her death, Stiles dealt with it the best that he could. As soon as he hit puberty, everything changed. Something in his mind snapped.

At first, he truly believed himself to be crazy. The first time he heard his mother's voice, he turned around so quickly that he made himself dizzy. When it started happening again and again, he sought help. Then he started seeing her from a distance and hearing her voice in his head. By the time his dad realized what was happening, Stiles was in the psych unit at the hospital.

His grades dropped. He shut himself off around his friend. There were days when he would sit in his room and talk to his mother for hours. He wasn't crazy. He knew that his mother was there and talking to him.

When his friends tried to help him, he got violent. He remembered tackling Scott to the ground and punching him multiple times before the teachers managed to pull him off of his best friend. They stopped talking after that. In fact, the only person that gave Stiles the time of day after that was Lydia. They were never great friends, but she was assigned to tutor him in several of his classes.

She was the lone person that he could tolerate. She never told him that he was crazy. She never tried to force him into anything. She listened to him instead of pretending to.

It wasn't surprising when he heard a gentle knock at the door. "Stiles?" Lydia's voice was easily recognizable and he slowly stood and opened the door, a little shaky on his feet. She smiled when she saw him and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. It took him a moment before he returned it. After a few moments, they released each other and Stiles went back over to his bed, falling onto it and staring at the ceiling.

"He called in the reinforcements, I see?" he sighed.

Lydia sat down next to him on the bed and shook her head. "Actually, you have a test for Physics to do this afternoon, and I'm here to make sure you do it."

Stiles groaned. Out of all the classes he worked on, he hated physics. Still, he was thankful that Lydia was there. If his father did call her, she did a good job at covering it up. "Can't I do it tomorrow, I've had a not so good day."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"You sound like my therapist, Lydia. No, I don't want to talk about it." Lydia was one of the few people Stiles would open up to, if he was ever in the mood to open up. Today was not one of those days.

"I understand. Now. About that physics test…"

* * *

Stiles barely left his room over the next few days. He read a book. He listened to music. He stared out the window. After day three of being off of the meds, he finally heard her.

"Sweetheart?"

Stiles turned so fast that he had to catch himself on the wall. "Mom?" He could barely make her out, but he could see his mother standing by the window, her form flickering slightly. He tumbled forwards and wrapped his arms around the air. He couldn't feel her in his arms, but he could feel her presence. "Mom, I missed you."

"I've been here the whole time, baby. You just couldn't hear me."

"I can hear you now. I can hear you. Please don't leave again."

"Never, sweetheart. Never."

Outside the door, Sheriff Stilinski could hear his son talking to his wife, and he knew what he had to do.

* * *

**A/N:** Lemme know if you think I should keep going.

Thanks for reading.


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